


5 Minutes to Arrival

by Toryb



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Bad Mom Alice Cooper, Bestie of the year Veronica Lodge, Betty moves out to San Diego, F/M, First Date, Fluff, Jughead is an uber driver, The SoCal AU Only I asked for, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 15:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16390598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toryb/pseuds/Toryb
Summary: Betty Cooper gets off the plane in San Diego to start her brand new life on the West Coast. She expects to find sunshine and happiness, not think her Uber driver might be the most handsome being she's ever made eye contact with. Well, this should be interesting.





	5 Minutes to Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> I was rereading the Riverdale comics and Betty mentions that she would love to move the West Coast. There's not many, if any, Bughead fics that take place on the west coast (which is, in my humble opinion, being west coast born and raised, the best coast) so i wanted to give that a go!
> 
> On a side note, this is a oneshot buuuuttt I've been playing with the idea of making it multichapter. If you're interested in that let me know, otherwise it'll stay a oneshot!
> 
> Shout out to @shrugheadjones, Cyd, for being a lovely wonderful beta reader for me and making me a graphic as quick as she did! it made me smile!

The first thing Betty notices when she steps out of the airport terminal and takes a deep breath is how wet everything feels. The ends of her perfectly sculpted ponytail are frizzing and it isn’t just because the old man sitting next to her for the entire eight hour red eye flight had made it impossible to not press her head flat against the window. She had tried her best to get sleep, any sleep, but there was an excitement boiling in her veins she simply couldn’t ignore. She, Elizabeth Ann Cooper, twenty-two years old, has finally snuck out from under her mother’s thumb and moved across the country to live in California. San Diego, of all places, where the weather is always perfectly lovely--so she’s been told--and the people are relaxed.

 

She can still taste the pumpkin spice latte on her tongue, even though that cinnamon treat is nearly a day old. Maybe she needs a toothbrush. Or a shower. No, she definitely needs both. She feels sticky and gross, like you always do after a long flight, but as she looks to the sky, there’s a lingering sense of hope that starts to coil in her stomach. The clouds looming over head are drifting passed, exposing that brilliant California sun she’s heard so much about. The rays kiss her cheeks and she laughs, out loud, right there in front of a bunch of other strangers who now think she’s just another crazy to pollute their streets. But she feels so  _ free _ and looking at the sky she can feel something coming just over the horizon. Something good. Something that tastes like the first pumpkin spice latte of fall. Something like change.

 

There’s just one small hiccup in her plans. Alice Cooper had not been happy to see her leave and had thus decided that her daughter did not deserve her help in moving cross country. That left Betty with all the pocket money she’d saved during various college jobs, no apartment to speak of and no one to aid her in the move. Veronica, who had helped secure her a position at a small publishing firm, would not be back in town until late December, but had graciously given Betty the key to one of her summer homes in La Jolla. 

 

Technically, she had managed to do that, but she hadn’t anticipated her speedy move from Riverdale being so...decisive. The second her mother found out about it she had her daughter pack up and ship out. No reminder to call. No reminder to do anything. At long last, Betty was an adult.

 

It feels impossibly lonely, especially as she stares out into a sea of cars she doesn’t recognize with license plates that are white with red instead of yellow with blue. A few of them have different letters. Nevada, the Battle Born State. Evergreen Washington. She has seen a few, once or twice, but its in this moment Betty has to shake her head and remind herself she’s on the west coast now, far away from everything she has ever known.

 

_ Well, _ she thinks, tightening her ponytail with determination,  _ lets see if the west coast really is the best coast. _

 

There are taxi drivers, but not nearly as many as she thought there would be this time of day. New York was full of bright yellow cars honking away. California, it seems, is full of all kinds of cars honking away. Something about the sound makes her a little less homesick.

 

She pulls up an app she hasn’t used in years, not since one fateful Saturday morning when she’d woken up from a Lodge slumber party and realized she was  _ still drink _ at eleven o’clock in the morning. She plugs in the address of the apartment and only blanches a little when the amount she’ll owe hops up on screen. With a sense of finality, she hits okay.

 

It’s the middle of the day so she shouldn’t be scared of an Uber driver picking her up, at least hypothetically. Betty’s looking through his reviews, just to be sure. He’s at five stars, or close enough she can’t see the bar that separates him from it, and all the reviews say he’s safe, fast, and doesn’t make much conversation. Which is, right now, absolutely perfect for her. She’s not sure she can hold a conversation without at least putting a colgate wisp brush inside her mouth to make it taste a little less like post airplane film.

 

_ You're Driver Should be Arriving in 5 minutes. _

 

She walked in circles until finding the designated spot. A few nice security guards had pointed the way so she wasn’t completely lost. It’s a busy Saturday, not that she suspects all Saturdays aren’t busy here. She sees a few people holding cups that say “Life’s Better Buzzed” and ideally wonders what the hell that could mean and when she can get her hands on it quickest.  They look, in theory, like coffee cups but she supposes they could contain cocaine and she would be none the wiser. This is California after all. A mere six hour drive from Sin City itself.

 

Maybe, just maybe, she’ll rent a car and drive across state lines for the hell of it. It would make her mother furious and that definitely makes the idea sound all the better.

 

Her phone starts to ring, and she’s surprised when it’s a New York number that pops up on the screen. Curiously, Betty slides and answers with a quiet, “Hello?”

 

“Hey. This is Jughead, your Uber driver. I just wanted to let you know I’m about a minute away. I’ve got the New York plates so I shouldn’t be too hard to miss.”

 

“Okay, perfect. I’m wearing a pink fluffy coat, but I’m thinking maybe I don’t need it anymore.”

 

He laughs and it only takes her a second to realize she likes that sound far too much and she’s grinning like an idiot in front of a bunch of strangers who already think she’s crazy enough to laugh maniacally for no reason. Well, San Diego’s a big place, what are the odds she’ll ever see them again?

 

The car pulls up to the curb, a miraculous feat in her eyes given how jam packed it had looked only seconds before. Despite the plates, it occurs to her he’s probably been driving here for awhile, at least long enough to have the kind of record he does on the app. She wonders if it would be rude to ask. Whatever she was going to say dies on her tongue the second he opens the driver’s side door and steps out to help her with her few bags. He’s handsome. Sinfully handsome in a way her small town ways are a little taken aback by. 

 

He smells a little like smoke, and a lot like sex--or maybe that’s just her stifled sex drive rearing its ugly head again. (How long as it been? Six months?  _ Too long _ , a voice that sounds suspiciously like Cheryl Blossom echoes in her mind.) There’s a flannel tied around his waist, suspenders hanging low. For someone who had laughed at her jacket he certainly is wearing a lot of layers. And a grey knit cap. It seems a little silly when the weather is as lovely as it is, even with the few spots of gray clouds that still linger on the horizon. The morning is a little chilly, but as the sun continues to rise she can feel it getting hotter. Maybe he’s newer than she thought.

 

“Betty, right? I’m Jughead. Let me help you out with those.”

 

As much as she’d giggled at his name, something about it fits him ridiculously well. What kind of man could make  _ Jughead _ sound sexy?

 

His sweater is hiding a lot of muscle. Effortlessly, he picks up her suitcases, that have her entire life stashed inside of them--or the entire life she could grab as her mother screamed obscenities and told her never to come back. Everything that means something is wrapped inside them. A picture of her and Veronica at Sadies Junior year because their dates were both jerks and they decided they wanted to go together instead, with Kevin by their side. Enough hair ties to survive the apocalypse. As many of her books as she could shove between clothes. A little black dress her mother hates but will never be able to tell her no about again. It makes her positively giddy to even think about.

 

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” There was a moment of panic as she stared at the doors. Front? Back? What were the rules again? It felt strange to treat him like a taxi when this was a service that was supposed to be less formal, more comfortable, but sitting up front without anyone in the back felt awkward too. After a moment of agony, Betty settles for the front. This way, at least, she can stare out the window instead of directly at him, memorizing the cut of his cheeks and the slope of his jawbone.

 

West Coast Best Coast indeed.

 

“You’re from New York.” It’s an observation, her attempt at making small talk while he plugs in her address and gets them safely out of the parking lot. It’s only a twenty minute drive from the airport to where she’s staying in La Jolla. For some reason, that sort of upsets her.

 

“Yeah I am. So are you. I spotted the area code when I called. I’m not sure I can call myself a New Yorker anymore, since I’ve been out here for four years now. The second I graduated high school I hopped in this old thing and never looked back. I really should register it here.” He’s muttering to himself at the end, but the conversation makes Betty thrilled. She hasn’t properly spoken to anyone in days. All her communication with Veronica has been via text while her bestie bathes in Italian sunshine and after the full blown nuclear meltdown in the Cooper household, her mother and her had not exchanged so much as a goodbye. Maybe she’ll call Kevin when she gets settled. 

 

“Long drive, isn’t it?”

 

“Forty-one hours.” He adjusts the air conditioning, almost nervously. “But I stopped a lot. It took me about two weeks because I wouldn’t stop sightseeing. And my car broke down a few times.” Jughead freezes and trips over himself in an attempt to over correct. “The cars fine, I promise.”

 

Betty laughs. “Don’t worry about it. It’s purring pretty to me. It’s just nice to see something that feels familiar, even if it is just a stupid area code or a yellow plate.”

 

“I get it. Part of me was super relieved. I can’t tell you how many sorority girls in Lululemons I’ve picked up today alone to drop off at college campuses. And they’re literally all drinking Better Buzzed. I thought Starbucks was a problem.”

 

“Not a fan, I take it?”

 

“Listen, this is dangerous to say, but I think it tastes like garbage water and you couldn’t pay me to drink it. Which, by the way, is blasphemy and if you want to keep your head you’ll never repeat that sentence.”

 

Betty’s laughing again, pushing the loose strands of her ponytail behind her ear. He’s easy to talk with. Maybe that’s why he’s got all the good ratings. It could also be because he’s handsome and she’s sure she isn’t the first girl to stumble into his car and notice that.

 

“So, from one New Yorker turned San Diegan to another, what should I be aware of?”

 

“PB, Pacific Beach, is literally always crowded, especially when school lets out. There’s an ice cream place called Baked Bear that college kids will fight to the death for, and it’s actually pretty good. Fresh baked ice cream sandwiches. La Jolla is where you’re staying? The shopping is good, the beach is okay. You should go to Old Town when you get the chance and check it out, if you’re into that sort of thing. The food everywhere is pretty amazing. There’s this brunch spot in Hillcrest where the wait time is 800 years but it’s worth it for one bite of their bacon. Mission Beach is pretty okay too, full of college kids, but what isn’t these days?” He smiles, shaking his head. “I sound like a grumpy old man. Don’t listen to me. I’m jaded. I came out of the womb that way and you did not hop into my car to hear me scold you about this city.”

 

“Wow. There are...a lot of beaches here, aren’t there?”

 

“Well, it is California. San Diego was also recently voted number one booziest city in America, if that’s your scene I say Gaslamp Quarter on a weekend. If not, I say avoid Gaslamp Quarter on a weekend.”

 

“Thank you, really. It helps to know what I’m in for. Is the Zoo as amazing as it sounds?”

 

Jughead has to think about that as he makes a sharp left turn around some construction. A lot of the turns are sharp, and most of them involve making convoluted loops along detours that he seems so familiar with that he’s hardly concentrating. “You know...I think I’ve only been once since I got here, for the primatology class I took. We stared at monkeys for two hours and then I had to write a report about it.”

 

“Did you go to school out here?”

 

He nods idly along with the music. “Yeah. I got a double major, English with a creative writing focus and anthropology. And now I drive people around, so you know, I’m using them really well.”

 

She laughs again. It’s the most she’s laughed in a very long time and she can feel her heart flutter away in her chest, like a hummingbird trapped in a cage she’s trying desperately to ignore. “I’m sure this isn’t all you do.”

 

“It’s not. But it is where I get most of my disposable income.” Apparently tired of talking about himself --Betty can’t really blame him, she’s essentially jumped him with a game of twenty-questions to satiate her own curiosity when all he’d agreed to was to give her a lift home-- he quickly changes the subject. “So why are you in San Diego, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

“Oh! I’m moving. Or, I guess, I moved. I got a job offer here working for an indie publishing firm. I jumped at the chance to move out of my sleepy, upstate small town. I’m sort of flying blind right now. My friend, who’s place I’m staying at, isn’t back in the country for awhile. I had an internship out in LA back in high school but this is different. Really different.”

 

“Not so different. Same avocado toast, different city.”

 

The conversation between them is easy and when she checks down at her phone and sees there’s only another five minutes until her arrival at her new La Jolla digs, Betty’s heart sinks. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but she wouldn’t be too mad having a friend who knew their way around the area, especially a friend as handsome as him. Until her job starts at the end of October, she’s got plenty of time to go exploring. She just doesn’t know where to start. Maybe that little brunch place he mentioned.

 

“So you really picked up your entire life and just moved out to San Diego not knowing a soul out here?”

 

“Isn’t that what you did?” Betty teases.

 

He laughs and sends her a wicked smile that makes her heart stall and her mind go eerily blank. “I guess it is.”

 

It’s too soon, when she sees the condos slowly creep into view. It’s too soon and she isn’t done talking to him. She doesn’t want to be done talking to him. But soon he’s pulled up to where she needs to be and is helping her unload the suitcases that hold her entire life. She’s starting to feel sad. Homesick. Maybe that’s what this is, this strange attachment she’s formed, to the Uber driver of all people, is really just a connection to the place she’s left for greener pastures. Still, it isn’t a connection she wants to lose.

 

“Jughead. This is going to sound crazy stupid, but if I give you my phone number, do you think you’d call?”

 

“Technically,” he starts and her heart goes too fast to keep up with again. “I have your phone number. And I think, with your permission, I’m definitely going to call it again.”

 

Maybe it’s impossibly stupid that she’s given a guy she’s known for 15 minutes her phone number. It’s no more stupid than giving it to some stranger at a bar, only this stranger happens to know where she lives and that she’ll be alone and lost for a good few weeks. There should be an alarm or bells going off. Everything Alice Cooper has instilled in her tells her to shut up, tell him she’s changed her mind, and immediately call Veronica and get the locks changed, too.

 

For once in her life, Betty shuts off the part of her brain that always sounds like her mother.

 

“I am giving you express permission to call as soon as you want to. Hopefully in time for brunch. I bet a guy who drives around here all the time would know a lot about it.”

 

“Not as much as a native, but I’m promising you you’ll be getting a call from me in the next few days. There have a be a few places I can show you around for a good time.”

 

She’s grinning ear to ear when he drives off, barely able to contain her excitement as she throws herself onto Veronica’s highly expensive, highly impractical, highly uncomfortable leather couch. Her skin sticks to it in a way that only humidity can cause and she realizes again that she needs a shower --oh my God, she needs a shower and Jughead didn’t even care. She had not exactly presented her best self to him today. He’s an Uber driver, which undoubtedly means he’s seen much, much worse, but it’s still mortifying to think that a guy she finds very cute knows what she looks like a hot mess right off a flight and hasn’t seen her naked. She’ll need to fix that one. Preferably very soon because the way his hands had gripped that steering wheel did wonderful things to the pit of her stomach.

 

Yes, Betty very much needed that shower. But maybe a cold one.

 

The water pressure is amazing because this is Veronica Lodge’s vacation apartment, so of course it is. There’s food in the fridge and a little note taped to it that reminds her to use everything in the house like it’s hers, because her best friend is a marvelous, wonderful goddess of a human being and everyone is simply not good enough to be in her presence. Except, maybe Archie, on a good day, when he’s behaved himself and looked appropriately apologetic for his occasional late night stupidity.

 

She looks at the time. No, still too early to call Veronica. She has to wait until she knows the meetings are done and her bestie is getting ready to crawl into her cotton sheets and her silk pajamas before she can pick up the phone and squeal about how exciting  _ everything  _ is right now and how she feels, for the first time in a very long time, a lust for life.

 

Things are not easy for Betty Cooper. There are a number of reasons she can tack that too. Her dad is behind bars for being a serial killer, her sister is probably in a cult but denies it, her mother is definitely sleeping with the leader of said cult and actively going insane as she ignores her own pain in favor of herbal teas and dandelion root pie or whatever the hell The Farm and Edgar Evernever are up to today.

 

“You're life is crazy banana pants,” Kevin had once said and it might be the closest anyone has gotten to getting it right.

 

But what might be the most crazy banana pants thing she’s done has just resulted in a text message from a cute Uber driver after a missed call during her shower exploits.

 

The shower had been good.  _ Really  _ good. And maybe, just maybe --though she’d deny it even under oath-- she had wonderfully wicked thoughts about a certain handsome man.

 

**I should have waited to call, but part of me wanted to do it before you realized you are way out of my league.**

 

Bety beams. Absolutely beams, and texts him back.

 

**You might need a new mirror. Yours appears to be broken.**

 

That night, her, Kevin, and Veronica have a three way phone call that involves a lot of squealing. Kevin, for his part, cannot believe their button-up Betty Cooper had been brave enough to not only hand her number off to a practical stranger, but then agree to meet him for coffee that coming Saturday. He is shocked. He is gagging. But most of all, he’s thrilled.

 

“You take one step out of New York and you’re wild. I, for one, might cry. This news is so fabulous.”

 

“I wasn’t a prude in New York,” she rolls her eyes and starts to apply the second coat of rose gold nail polish to her finger. She’s comfortably cuddled up in the softest sheets she has ever touched and today feels nothing short of heavenly. “I did have boyfriends.”

 

“Boyfriends and attempting to dry hump the Uber driver with your eyes are not the same thing and you know it.”

 

Veronica rolls her eyes fondly and adjusts her suit again. She’s got a business meeting, like the real adult she is, and Kevin is sitting in cookie monster pajama bottoms while Betty is swallowed in a shirt she stole from an ex-boyfriend she only sort of remembers the name of. (Freddy? Deggie? Gerald? It’s all very fuzzy, which is for the best since most night’s he spent with her they weren’t doing a lot of talking. The fine line between boyfriend and living vibrator were very skewed that summer.) “I knew the west coast would be good for you, B. You’ll have to call and tell us all about your date. Where are you two meeting again?”

 

“Mission Beach. He said the boardwalk is fun to hang out at and the shops are cute and it’s right at Belmont Park. Are we sure it’s a date? It’s just coffee. Maybe he’s just playing nice and making friends.”

 

“Betty,” Kevin starts, “Any man who wants to see you for coffee after witnessing you post-airplane definitely wants to take you out on a date.”

 

“We’re not there to save you if something goes wrong, so promise me you’ll stay safe. He could so easily kidnap you.”

 

While Kevin and Veronica pick up an ever present conversation about Italian fashion, Betty idly wonders why she’s not so scared of an entirely plausible situation. She shouldn’t trust him as much as she does, but the only thing she feels about their date is apprehension and excitement. 

 

She wears a dress both her friends approve of --there’s a pretty floral pattern that’s maybe a little too low cut-- but old habits die hard and she stuffs the cardigan that Mother Cooper would approve of inside her purse and ties her hair up with a ribbon that matches. 

 

Jughead picks her up because it’s sort of his thing to do that, so he doesn’t mind it. This time Siri isn’t interrupting them every few minutes and Betty likes that. It means more of his voice, more of his laugh, more of his everything and the more Jughead the better. It’s something she has quickly decided is going to be part of her future mantra.

 

It’s a surprise to her when they show up at a coffee shop that she knows he hates because it’s been the subject of a few of their conversations already. Betty raises an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t like this place.”

 

“I don’t. It’s overcrowded, overpriced, and overrated. But, you have to try it. It’s a right of passage and I won’t let you miss out on it just because you’re expecting the worse.”

 

“Well, now I know I won’t like it.”

 

Jughead rolls his eyes and points to the menu. Betty is bemused to see that there is avocado toast on the menu --she wonders why three seeds makes it better than just one-- and equally as horrified to see that you can add red bull to your strawberry milkshake. Her date, because that’s what they are if the way he’s got his fingers lightly threaded through hers means, orders a cold brew, grumbling to himself about how terrible it’s going to taste in a way she should think is annoying but finds oddly endearing. Betty gets a Mint Mocha Latte because it sounds both terrible and wonderful and this is supposed to be an adventure so, hey why not.

 

“We drink on the count of three.”

 

She wants to laugh at his dramatics, but instead she finds herself counting along. It’s not so bad at first. Then she sort of feels like she chewed an entire package of menthol cigarettes and coughs twice. Jughead is grimacing down at his cup. “So, how was it?”

 

“Bad.”

 

His entire face lights up. “Oh, thank God.”

 

Despite all the fuss, they walk hand in hand down the boardwalk, still nursing their drinks. Every taste Betty hopes will be better is a disappointment until he takes pity and offers a switch. She thinks maybe he likes the mint better anyway, even if that hipster outer image he likes to portray is a little bit broken now.

 

There’s a man selling things he’s made out of palm leaves. Some of them are angels, some of them are roses, and Betty has never been more fascinated in her life. They don’t have palm trees in Riverdale. They have maples that turn orange and gold and coats the ground. Her leaves go crunch if you try to sculpt them into anything more than an annoying pile for the neighbor kids to jump into, so watching as the man winds one up and tucks it into her hair makes her blush. She almost doesn’t notice Jughead tip him a few dollars and it’s then she realizes he’s likely homeless.

 

It’s something she’s noticed already, because she’s too perceptive to be blind and her heart is too soft to be anything other than empathetic. It makes sense, why there would be homeless people in San Diego, where the weather is always warm so sleeping outside isn’t the worst thing in the world, and there’s showers on the beach for people to rinse off the salt from the sea. It doesn’t stop her heart from aching though, especially when she sees Jughead’s expression twist into something unreadable.

 

Feeling her eyes on him --she’s not particularly subtle and doesn’t care to be-- he sighs and gives her hand a squeeze. “Not right now.” It’s simple, what he says, a promise that there’s more to learn from one another and it makes her giddy again. Not right now, but maybe soon. That makes sense. Maybe it’ll be the same day she talks about her mother, who has now begun leaving passive aggressive messages on her phone and posting those guilty mom pictures on Facebook.

 

None of it is an apology, so Betty won’t take it.

 

“It’s pretty here, isn’t it? Watching the sun on the water. I just...I get it, I think, why so many people want to move here.”

 

“Oh? You’re a True Detective then. I haven’t figured it out.”

 

“I’m sure you haven’t. How’s your coffee?”

 

He glares halfheartedly down at her and gives her hand a squeeze. “Minty garbage. What about yours?”

 

“Black with two sugars. I knew you had some sweetness in you.”

 

The glare is gone and now he’s blushing, so Betty feels pretty accomplished as they continue their walk. She’s seen a lot of things in New York, but San Diego is colorful in it’s own way, as people bike and skate around her in a flurry. She hears people shout and dogs run across the sand to bring owners things they’ve thrown. A young girl tries to stand on her surfboard and falls flat on her face, only to laugh when her father picks her up. It’s nothing like home, but maybe that’s exactly what she needs.

 

“Jughead. What would you do if I kissed you?”

 

He raises an eyebrow and humors her. “Well I’d be an idiot to not kiss you back, wouldn’t I? When you’re the prettiest girl on the whole b-”

 

He doesn’t get to finish what he says, which is fine by Betty because she’s pretty sure she knew what he was going to say. There’s something in the air, the weather, the world that makes her feel impossibly bold here. Not a single soul knows her. There’s no one peaking out their window intending to report back to her mother that she’s some harlot kissing boys she barely knows in the middle of a crowded sidewalk. There’s no one to squawk and shout and rave about the way he puts his hands probably a little too close to her backside when he kisses back.

 

For not the first time, Betty decides the people were right. West Coast is the best coast, at least in terms of kissable boys named Jughead Jones. When they pull back, he’s grinning like an idiot, and she’s sure she is too because the pink lipstick she’d taken so much time to perfectly apply is now smudged all over his lips.

 

She doesn’t bother to wipe it off, because he’s wearing it almost like a badge of honor, and she would hate to take that away from him.

 

“I need your advice. Say there’s this girl and I took her out on a date and tried not to sweat the entire time. She just kissed me. Do you think that means I’ll get to ask her out again?”

 

Betty rolls her eyes and bumps him lightly. “I bet I could talk to her for you. We go way back.”

 

“Oh yeah? Lucky me.”

 

They don’t kiss again for the rest of the night, not until he drops her off at Veronica’s apartment and leaves her breathless against the doorframe. All of her lipstick is on him now. And the collar of his white shirt. He gives her a wave, sauntering off like a man who’s just found himself on top of the world. 

 

For the first time, when Betty falls asleep, she doesn’t dream about her mother’s purposefully scathing words or the way she’d hardened her gaze and pointed towards the door. Instead, she thinks about Jughead and her heart beats a little faster.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @tory-b!


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